Too Soon To Go
by Sue Shay
Summary: This is a reposting of a one-shot with a looooong history. Jane discovers he's not the only one to have lived a very hard life. Cherished children are lost from loving parents all the time. Jane's epiphany is blinding. By the way, I don't own the characters and am only writing for self-amusement. Hope you enjoy too. See Make-Mine-A-Kiaora's "Aftermath" for the sequel to this story.


_**Authors Note:** This piece is a one shot that had originally been intended as a multi-chapter Crime Drama to be written by Make-Mine-A-Kiaora (Chris), Cumberland River Relic (CRR) and myself. I composed most of it before My Blue Heaven aired in the States so it is very AU._

_Unfortunately, plans changed and we're not going to write a "Jane In South America" multichapter. However, my co-authors had really inspired me when I wrote this piece, and after all CCR & Chris's hard work in fixing my little issues, it would be a shame not to share it. Which I did...and then took down again. Still, I liked it so here it is again. Hope you enjoy it. The concept is still haunting me, so if anyone asks, maybe I'll finish it. Dunno. Sorry to be so wishy-washy._

* * *

Patrick Jane stared at the fingerprints on the highball glass between his fingers and tried to suppress a smirk.

The prints matched those on a gun.

On a phone.

On a throat.

Except…fingerprints didn't show up on skin. Just red marks. Marks from his own hand that ended a monster's evil existence.

Words in Spanish entered his ear, scattering the vision floating through Jane's memory, the vision of life fading from watery blue eyes, turning them cold in death.

The smirk slipped past his efforts to hide it. Jane looked up at the Alfredo, who smiled warily in return. The bartender never saw anything besides Jane's Soul of Politeness act. And his parlor tricks assortment, of course.

"Er… Senor Jane, did you wish another drink?" the man repeated.

It was probably one of the first Spanish phrases Jane had learned when he arrived in the little Venezuelan fishing village '_do you want a drink?'_ He'd had a lot of them in the last six months, never enough to make him fall down on his way back to the small apartment he called 'home', but often enough to help him forget.

Jane adjusted his smile to his less truthful one, the one the bartender was familiar with. He patted at the man's hand, missing on purpose.

"My friend, I think today is one of my light days."

Alfredo looked at the cheap clock on the cantina wall. "But the afternoon is so young!"

Jane looked too. It wasn't yet three o'clock. The children weren't out of school. The fishing boats had not returned.

"It's Settle Up Monday," Jane said, sliding the 's' a little. "Let me pay this week's tab, and I'll go down to the pier and see if the catch they bring in is worth eating this evening."

"Whatever it is, it will be very fresh."

"No doubt about that. See you tomorrow."

It was a short stroll through the village to the fishing pier. Jane's shoeless feet plodded through deep dust that felt like warm, soft talcum powder under his heels. Jane didn't worry about his stride. The dirt streets of Reposado were like paradises everywhere; no trash, no broken glass, nothing to harm him.

Okay, so maybe he was being a bit foolhardy, but it added to his crafted reputation as being harmless to the village. No one said it to him directly, but most people considered him a bit of a simpleton. He was the overly-polite man they didn't mind their children playing a bit of _fútbol _with on Saturday afternoons when the kids weren't in school. It kept the youngsters busy while the adults loaded the truck that took the catch away to the canning factory in the next valley over.

The children seemed to appreciate how he took time to ask about their lives and listen to their explanations about things. Or the way he made a seashell appear from behind the ear of Viejo Gonzalez and then put it back. Everyone laughed when the grandfatherly man could never find it there.

Or the times he shared stories about an angry little princess in a beautiful pink gown who, despite her bouts of temper, had a heart of gold that made her save the people in her kingdom, time and time again. Those were stories they asked him to repeat.

Most of the villagers called him 'Señor Jane'. Others, like the man who did his laundry and the woman who ran the restaurant, called him Patricio as did all the children who said it like they were welcoming Santa Claus, 'Papa Noel'.

As with every day except Sunday, a traditional day of rest for everyone, the ladies of the village lined the street chatting animatedly as they rinsed the large plastic vats used to hold the catch. Their tanned faces were wrinkled from the stress of hard work, their arms strong from the same, but they were laughing as much as they were talking. Teenaged boys, too old for school but not old or strong enough for the boats, were collecting these white containers and loading them on a cart to transport to the pier.

"Hola, Señor Jane," the ladies called as he approached their houses.

"Hola! Espero que la pesca fue buena hoy."

The response was a collective nervous giggle like high school girls. Every time he went past, he smiled and expressed hope that the fishing was good or something similar, and they always giggled. He was starting to think he needed to check his Spanish.

Jane wasn't quite sure what had driven him out of the cantina. His usual time to head toward the water was early in the morning as the sun was rising over the beautiful Atlantic, slowly warming the dark ocean and his even darker soul, driving off the loneliness of the long night. Something about sunrise over the ocean carried him back to a time when he could be equally enthralled watching the sun disappear with the onset of night over the Pacific. It brought satisfaction that he prevailed one more time.

Now he was headed to the place at a time when he least wanted to be there. Whenever possible, he stayed away from the pier in the afternoon, avoided seeing the stranded fish dumped unceremoniously in the tubs, their stiff jaws flexing to bring life force through their drying gills.

The unfairness of it was too plain. All that they were guilty of was existing; living their simple lives until something snatched them from their comfortable setting and dropped them into a painful struggle to survive just a few moments more. Jane wondered if they knew the futility but continued trying anyway.

Then he'd wonder about his own continuance. It had been six months since… since he'd last seen Lisbon, and he still felt bereft of air. Shouldn't it be getting easier soon?

"Señor Jane! One moment, please!"

Jane looked up at the familiar voice. Padre Rodolfo Acuña appeared from between two small houses, standing in an alleyway that Jane knew led to the broken hovel of Maria Castanza and her six-year-old child. The young priest looked both ways up the street and then waved Jane closer before clamping his straw hat more firmly onto his shiny black hair and turning away, hurrying down the alley.

Whatever it was, Father Rudy needed him urgently.

Giving a quick glance up the street but seeing nothing noteworthy, Jane dashed after the priest toward the half-tarp, half-corrugated metal shack that served as home for the young, single woman and her charming little daughter Sophia. Village gossip floated around that Sophia was a demon-spawned child because Maria was unmarried and the little girl had a form of cerebral palsy.

Voices came from within; Maria talking so quickly and with such hysterics, Jane couldn't interpret fast enough. _Sick, Lord, Savior, blessings…_ Then Father Rudy spoke calmly, but his voice was so soft, the words were almost undiscernible. _Sick, Lord, Savior, blessings, Heaven…_

Jane pulled back the worn cloth that served as a door only to step back in horror at the stench that assaulted his nose. Uncontrolled diarrhea of some sort. Malaria? Dengue? Something worse?

A wail of a frightened child came from inside, interrupted by the sound of violent wretching. _Sophia!_

Jane took a deep breath and clenched his teeth before lifting the curtain and entering. By the dreadful, skulking light of a single flickering candle, Maria stared into Father Rudy's face, pleadingly. When she saw Jane, she screamed and hid behind the priest.

"Spirit of our Savior, help me!"

The younger man turned to comfort her, assuring her that it was only the "pueblo payaso". Although Jane understood it had been meant to reassure the young mother, it took him aback. _Village clown? _Well, he supposed he'd earned it, since he had done his best to always put forth an unfettered attitude. Father Rudy had hinted from time to time that he could see through it.

"Patricio, tend the child? Please?"

The little girl had stopped vomiting, but now lay on the small cot shivering violently. Her twisted limbs were tucked into her core, reminding him of a spider carcass, deserted on a window ledge. Jane moved closer, stepping carelessly in something wet and fighting the shudder that ran through him. The lighting in the oppressive space was poor, deepening the already stark hollows in Sophia's pale face. The child didn't have much longer in the world.

Lifting the gaunt frame from the soiled mattress, Jane stopped the gasp of surprise generated by how light the child was. He hugged her, hoping his warm chest would provide some comfort in her last moments.

"Father, you must administer the last rights," Jane said in English, knowing the priest would understand but wouldn't clue the mother.

Father Rudy glanced over in surprise which then drained into sorrow. He guided the mother closer to the door where he pulled the curtain aside and gestured for Jane to bring the girl into the light which he did gently. A faded cross of oil on the small forehead indicated that the Anointing of the Sick, the first part of the Rites had already been performed.

"God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son…"

Maria began to wail at the sound of the Penance ritual and threw her arms around Sophia and Patrick. Then she took the child from his arms, calling for her daughter and for God alternately. Feeling helpless, Patrick held them both, supporting the burden in her mother's arms while murmuring useless assurances as Father Rudy spoke in a quiet drone.

_I'm holding a former prostitute and her dying child after prompting a Catholic priest to perform a completely useless ritual. I have some unknown bodily fluid on my left foot. I live in a fishing village on the outskirts of the jungle. And for the first time in years, I'm crying over someone besides myself. Could my life be any more screwed up?_

The priest brought out an ornate and very official-looking tin from his pocket, opening it to reveal two small containers; one holding small wafers, the other had a small cotton ball, probably wetted with the anointing oil. Jane's tears flowed more quickly as he stepped back to help the padre by opening Sophia's mouth to allow the Eucharist.

_When did my icy heart thaw?_

The girl closed on the wafer, attempting to swallow before going slack completely.

_This isn't about me. Someone besides me has lost a child, someone who has struggled to make a life for a child despite the horrible, squalid conditions._

"Sophia!" her mother sobbed. "My darling baby Sophia!"

Other villagers began to gather, their faces filled with sorrow and a trace of guilt. Jane turned away and then stepped out of the shed, skirting around the crowd unnoticed.

"Patricio, please don't go far."

Jane glanced up, gave a terse nod to the priest, and headed to the closest rain barrel for water to wash his feet.

* * *

_**Author's Note (01/27/2014):** To read the original continuation of this story (and see how different the writing style is), please look for Chris's (Make-Mine-A-Kiaora) one-shot written to follow this piece. It's in my list of Favorite Stories and Chris (Make-Mine-A-Kiaora) is, of course, in my list of Favorite Authors. Go check it out._


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